Chapter 4: CHAPTER FOUR: In which our stubborn priest pledges to accept himself, with unforeseen results.

After a long evening of working with the poor of New York City, Michael retired to his bed, feeling exhausted by the effort of ministering to people who were far worse off than he was. He lay on his side, facing away from the empty half of his double bed, and thought the dizzying precipice he dangled on, so close to falling. Just yesterday morning, he had been an ordinary parish priest, devoted only to helping others. Even if he was still helping, something new was growing in him. He closed his eyes.

A soft hand stroked the hair behind his ear, then slipped under his pillow, between the sheets. It tickled slightly, then felt warm. A second hand joined the first, tracing the shape of his chest, the curve of his waist, the length of his leg. A third hand moved in front of his eyes, blocking out the light, then the fourth hand slid around his stomach. Michael froze, trying to ignore what was surely an illusion. Just pretend it's not happening, he thought, and maybe Yael will go away.

The demoness’s phantom hands kept touching him, moving closer and closer to the sensitive parts of his body. Her breasts pressed against him through the thin fabric of his nightshirt, her nipples hardening in his skin. Her hips undulated, sliding against him, rubbing him intimately, her tongue licking along his neck. He opened his eyes in annoyance, unable to stay still. "Stop it." His voice sounded strange and unfamiliar to him, like a girl's. "You're not real."

Yael giggled. "Oh no? You don't know what's real anymore?" she asked sweetly, pressing her body against his, and kissing his neck. Michael felt a wave of nausea rise; he sat up in bed.

Yael was right there, kneeling on the bed, hands in front of her knees. All four hands since she had apparently grown some extra arms. "You like these? They're handy. Get it, handy? Great for a hand job, plus a nipple tweak, plus some ass play, and then I stick the last one in your mouth... so many possibilities!

The she-demon grinned, showing sharp canines. Michael recoiled. "Hey," said Yael. "I've been watching you for months, and you've never even noticed me before, right?" His face grew hot, and he started to stammer a denial, but the succubus continued.

"You think this is something that just happened to you, that you can throw up your mental defenses and protect yourself," she said, rolling over onto her back and thrusting her hips in the air as if practicing a dance routine, "but that's not what happened at all. I've been with you over three moons, learning all about you. Growing in you like a seed. And now I've bloomed," she crowed, spreading her labia to displaying her own dewy flower.

She smiled. "You've got to admit, it's a nice body, huh? Nice legs, nice butt, nice everything. All this could be yours, for the low low price of... your soul!! But like I said, I've been studying you. Getting to know what you like best, what turns you on, and what makes you want to keep coming back.”

She rolled on her stomach again, looking up at him. “You're an easy case in some ways, Padre. You like big cocks. You like hard muscles. You like men with sharp facial hair. But you've never, ever, ever given in to those desires. You've repressed yourself, little gay boy! You could have been such a lovely queer."

Yael laughed, and Michael’s blush deepened. She continued, "And you have silly minor kinks. You like women's tits, but only if they're flat, androgynous! You like hairy abs on men, but you prefer their butts shaved!" Yael laughed again, slapping her thighs with her hands. "Oh, darkness below, what fools these mortals be!"

Michael tried to stammer a denial but realized there was no point. She knew his desires, his strange side. But she could never know his faith or his resolve. Now, he resolved to simply ignore her. He got up to get himself a glass of water, the succubus floating along intangibly nearby.

"Here's what we'll do," she lilted, "We'll just take the changes one by one, so that the changes don't overwhelm you. So let's start with... hmm what should we do next. You wanna pick, Mikey?" Michael furrowed his brows in thought, and Yael reached down to her crotch to pull her panties aside to expose her clit and pussy to him. He looked away quickly.

Yael hissed. "Come on, don't be shy! Look at my clit! Do you see how red it is? Do you smell how wet I am? Don't you want one of these? Say the word, tell me you want my pussy. Tell me how much you want it--the vag, the clit, or the whole shebang, and she's yours for the asking. Not to fuck, I mean, but literally on your body. Do we have a deal, folks?" Michael sighed, and threw the plastic drinking glass to the floor, frustrated but unwilling to talk to the demoness.

"What's wrong? What's eating at you?"

He turned to her slowly. "Yael, please, just leave me alone. You cannot tempt me. Anything I'm feeling... is a phase. It will pass, it's temporary. I'm a good person."

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Yael giggled. "Really? A good man who likes dick? You've got no argument with me, I love the gays. They are my favorites, in so many ways. But that's not what the Catholic Church says is good, no no no! You know what they would think is holy? When a cunt is getting banged by a cock. Right?”

Yael put one finger on her chin, thoughtfully. Her other limbs had vanished. “In missionary position, better yet. Think of it, Michael: you could find that hunky shaved-ass hairy-bellied football player of your dreams, lie on your back and let him rail your hot, sopping wet pussy. Become the tradwife of your dreams. Make him steak and hot chocolate... am I getting through to you now?" Yael's voice had dropped to a whisper by this point, and Michael was flushing bright pink.

Michael's thoughts raced unbidden, picturing himself wearing an apron, hair long and blonde, silver earrings. His husband would come home, kiss him passionately, bend him over the kitchen counter... Michael moaned quietly, and Yael giggled again. "No need to worry about a thing," she cooed, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "The first thing you're gonna do is get your ass over to a mirror. Because when you look into the mirror, you'll say these words: 'I accept you, body and soul.'"

Michael, groggy, found himself stumbling towards the full-length mirror next to his closet. He stared at himself, in his nightshirt. A typical dumpy man in his forties, although with no body hair. Behind him, over his shoulder, leaned an impossible floating form, a burgundy-skinned woman with glowing white eyes and curling ram's horns. He shook his head, and Yael grabbed his arm. "Say it, Michael. Say the words. I know they feel weird, but you gotta force them out. Otherwise, you won't be able to get what's mine. If you can't accept yourself, then I can't make myself yours either."

Michael snarled. "I accept myself, but not you." He started at himself, into his eyes. He knew who he was: Father Michael Belmont, priest. "I accept you," he pointed at his own face, "body and soul." Yael looked surprised, then began to laugh with unholy mirth.

Michael felt something cold press against his neck, and then his entire body began to convulse. The feeling of being inside his own skin suddenly went away, and all at once he became aware of every inch of his body.

He stood before the mirror, and saw that his chest and stomach were smooth, his arms and legs smooth as well, just as before. But Michael's nipples were larger, hard as pebbles. He ran his fingers over the smooth flesh, and found that they had grown a half inch longer than usual, almost the girth of a small cigar.

Yael laughed, clutching her slim waist and doubling over. “You said the words! You really said them, the words of power. You silly, silly little ditz! Did you think your intent mattered so much, as if your interpretation controlled a ritual? Oh, you ARE fun to play with.” She turned to Michael, smiling wickedly, her feline lips pulled into a snarl. Her eyes glowed white like a cat's.

Yael approached him, her hips swaying seductively, her breasts jiggling, her eyes fixed on his. "Now, let's see what we got here.” She placed her palms on Michael’s pectorals. “I spared you the grand prize this time, baby doll… but what a shame, still flat-chested. Nice nipples though, girl! Fat and juicy.”

She flicked one of Michael’s new, swollen nubs, and he gasped at the intensified sensation. “Milky for mommy?” Yael licked her lips hungrily. Michael blushed, unable to answer. Yael laughed. "You are just so cute, aren't you, Mikey? So little, and so helpless!" Michael winced as Yael pinched his nipple harder, twisting it around between two of her taloned fingers. “Ouch!” he yelped, his tenor voice sounding almost girlish purely due to petulance.

Yael smiled sweetly. “Just a little sorority hazing, honey! We all go through it. Well, not me. I put you all through it. Now, wanna do some more demonic rituals? You could take home big prizes,” and she gestured at her whole body, “and every one is a winner!” Michael shuddered with revulsion, but his erection throbbed with excitement.

Yael giggled. "Oh, I do love my job."

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